Reader. Writer. Romantic.

I stand alone watching the snow fall before the window. I try not to think about where we’d be now if things had worked out between us. I can still feel the warmth of your breath, the feel of your body up against mine as I gaze out the window. In my mind, nothing has changed. In my mind, you are still here with me.

You stand there next to me, lost in the beauty of the landscape. You were never one for the cold, but you could always appreciated what Nature had to offer. You were always able to recreate anything she had with the stroke of your brush. What you painted was not merely a cheap imitation but a mirror of Nature’s beauty. You reflected back to her something even more sublime than she could have ever imagined. Tonight you stood in our kitchen, your arms wrapped around me, keeping me warm as you absentmindedly sipped your tea. I can smell its aroma mixed with the scent of your freshly laundered sweater. This is what love smelled like.

I blink and you’re gone. I’m alone again, watching the seasons turn and the flower blossoms in the trees bloom. Under the raining petals, I see two lovers and I’m gone again. I am brought back to the first time we met.

It was strange how it came to be. We were both just tourists in another city, another country, but were united by a similar background, a similar interest, and we both called the same city home. Underneath the cherry blossom waltz, we made our own kind of love. One that we would never have to explain to the world. We lived in the moment. We understood that love, like life, was transient. That’s why we had each other. You were my rock and I was yours. Nothing in the world would ever change.

The fresh scent of jasmines float through the open window, the sound of a girl’s laugh brings me back. The taste of summer has arrived and with it long nights watching the sunset.

You stand outside taking in the salty sea air. I watch you with watery eyes as you lose yourself in another world. When you finally notice me, you laugh me off and tell me to go inside and fetch the peach iced tea. I oblige, we will have our Sunday tea. Tea with you is unlike any other. We have the customary scones and tarts, but that’s not all. Tea with you is like a meal and it’s one that I will happily cook. I spend hours baking and cooking up a storm as you watch, your arms wrapped loosely around my waist, your lips poised above my neck, nuzzling me every once in a while. When I’m done, there are blueberry scones and fruit tarts, cucumber sandwiches and dainty smoked ham and brie sandwiches, and of course pistachio eclairs and profiteroles. This is the future I’ve always imagined for us.

A chill comes over me, I shiver it off, shaking me into reality. The smell of rotting leaves and fire fills my lungs. I quickly pull the window shut. I don’t want any more reminders of you.

It was a long day. You were tired, as you’d been for the whole week. I wanted to make things perfect just for you. I made you your favourite meal with a glass of Pinot Noir on the side. You barely glanced up while you wolfed down your steak and potatoes, drowning them in wine. You never uttered a thanks as you headed back to your office. These days work consumed your whole life. Work had drained all the love from you. You didn’t know what it meant to put it down and enjoy what you had. I tried so hard tonight. I just wanted things to go back to the way things were, but all you could think about was the money. All you wanted was to make money, save up, and retire. You didn’t know what it meant to live anymore. You were barely surviving as it was. I just wanted to help. I wanted you to be yourself again. I wanted you to be the man I had fallen in love with. But it was clear that he was dead. That you had murdered him. And that he was not coming back.

You had turned your back on me. What else could I have done? I just wish it didn’t hurt so much. There are things that time will never heal. You are one of them.